


Afternoon Picnic

by Nickety



Series: Trapped [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Outdoor Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29833179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nickety/pseuds/Nickety
Summary: Jon and Sansa spent time together in the godswood.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Trapped [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/481444
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	Afternoon Picnic

It was difficult to find time to spare when it came to the day-to-day demands of running a castle, especially one in the middle of reconstruction. The central keep had been restored before the worst of winter had set in, but now that spring had arrived, it was time to return Winterfell to her former glory.

Mid-afternoon, when the sun was at its highest and the laborers recessed out of necessity, when Rickon was finally wrangled into lessons with the maester, was the only time they ever truly found themselves alone. The best way they found to celebrate the warmth and rebirth of the new season, of Winterfell, of House Stark, was in their private moments together. 

It always started the same. Some time during the morning, they would cross paths and their eyes would meet. Subtle smiles, the simplest of gestures, and plans were made. 

Their meeting place was an isolated spot in the godswood. In the shade of a massive ancient tree, the mess of thick, gnarled roots at the base opened on a short slope, revealing a recess in the earth. A soft layer of moss and grass had since grown in, blanketing the bowl of the small niche. There, they could feel safe and sheltered in their moments of intimacy and vulnerability. 

This day, his artful fingers and talented mouth were at work at the apex of her thighs. He brought her to her peak, once, twice, three times before she could take no more.

“You’re a wicked, wicked…“ she trailed off and sighed, “Wonderful man.” Her lassitude was so strong she could do little more than speak, not bothering to open her eyes.

Jon smirked, turning his head to press a kiss to her thigh. He wrapped his arms around her waist, scooting up to pillow his head against her stomach. He sighed contently when she brought a hand up to stroke his hair, a soft smile curving her lips as she watched his face go slack with relief and peace at the touch. “You realize we’ve completely missed the point of a picnic, my love.”

“Did we? I think I had quite the feast set out before me.”

Her face flushed as red as her hair and he chuckled. “It’s sad I can’t tell Cook that you chose me first over her lemoncakes. I think that’s the highest compliment I’ve ever received.”

Sansa huffed and rolled her eyes, tugging at his hair with what strength she had left, hoping to distract from further teasing. He responded immediately to her prompting, crawling back up her body to kiss her. The kiss was a soft, languid thing, deepening in leisurely agreement as lips parted and his tongue stroked against hers, letting her taste the tang and musk of her own sex. 

Jon hummed low in his throat, shifting his weight from his palms to his forearms until his body was a firm line against hers, from chest to groin. Though there was no emphasis or insistence on his part, no rock or roll of his hips, the rigid press of his arousal against her thigh was difficult to miss. 

She reached between them, the hand wrapping firmly around his erection earning her a throaty growl of approval. Stroking her fingers down the silken length of him had Jon bucking into her touch, swearing gutturally under his breath. “ _ Oh _ , oh, gods save me. Sansa!”

Impossibly given how thoroughly he’d just managed to satiate and exhaust her, his throaty, hungry sounds sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. And Jon, aroused to the point of overwhelm after denying himself friction for so long, rut blindly into her fist, dropping sloppy kisses to her neck in between his panting breaths. 

Knowing she barely had the energy to participate, but wanting him to have more than a quick, mindless release, Sansa shifted until she hitched her legs up around his hips and lined him up with her center. Her lover didn’t hesitate at the invitation and began to press into her, sinking easily into her heat, wet and open from his earlier attentions. 

Jon breathed out unsteadily as he began to move, rocking into her body in slow, deep thrusts. Clinging to the tattered remnants of his control, he cupped her backside to lift her to him, her legs cinching tight around his waist. “Jon,” she whimpered, clinging tightly to his shoulders, nails digging in. 

Jon Stark, the White Wolf and Wintersbane himself, lost every ounce of his infamous control. Shifting onto his knees, his weight pressed her down save for the legs hitched his hips. Lending a forearm to pillow her head and slipping his free hand between them, his rhythm began again, picking up in less than a breath, hard and fast. He growled her name, fingers rubbing firm circles around her clit as she felt his body strain. The tension inside her was building just as fast, a knot of hot sensation coiling tighter and tighter in her belly, so lost in sensation she only felt a brief flash of disappointment when he left her body and slipping his fingers inside her, spilling seed onto the empty earth as she exploded in turn. 

Somehow, Jon still had the presence of mind just to keep from crushing her beneath him, turning them over until he was on his back, her cradled against him. His fingers lazily ran through her hair, Sansa resting her head against his chest as he did so. She listened as his pounding heart began to calm, a gentle kiss pressed to her brow as he hummed thoughtfully. “Someday soon I won’t always have to leave you at the end. Rickon’s only half a year from his majority.”

Sansa smiled, a familiar dream of red-haired, grey-eyed babes dancing through her mind. “Not long to wait then.”

Against all reason and logic, at least in Sansa’s opinion, his fingers skimmed along her inner thigh and his voice took on a seductive edge. “Perhaps we should get more practice in.”

It was only the power of her incredulity that gave her the power to lift her head and stare at him, limp and useless as her weary body felt. Her eyes fell on the forgotten basket and she felt longingly of its contents- Cook really had spoiled them. “And I suppose you’re not hungry at all?”

A loud growling from Jon’s middle answered the question.

As quickly as they tore through their spoils, soft-boiled eggs, cold chicken, fresh bread and blackberry preserves- the lemoncakes devoured just as thoroughly. If their frosting ended up smeared across Jon’s chest, who truly knew the cause? And what better way to have it cleaned up, than the Lady Regent’s famous silver tongue?


End file.
